


give it all up for you right now

by r1ker



Category: DCU (Movies)
Genre: M/M, take me to church for the love of god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:39:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4321713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bruce asks too many questions when he and clark come together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	give it all up for you right now

**Author's Note:**

> HOOOOO BOY the new batman vs. superman trailer had me feeling some kind of way
> 
> enjoy this garbage

He doesn’t know why he’s here. Here in this particular part of town after all that’s happened, here with Clark facing him after they nearly tore each other’s throats out to feast on them. He doesn’t know why he bothers to come back.

 

There’s a lot of questions he’s been asking himself over the last few weeks but the most important one by far, the one that’s filled the blank spaces of his brain when he finally gets downtime, is _why me?_

_Why do I punish myself and through extension, him? Why do I give him the satisfaction of my presence before him, kneeling like a supplicant, submitting myself to the danger I know he poses?_

_What is causing me to completely give my body, my mind over to someone that I hate?_

As his head bows, aforementioned knees digging into the ground as he presents himself passively in front of the firm presence of Clark, the silence and black void of his closed eyes do nothing to provide him an answer. He is still breathing normally, something he’d hope to maintain. Clark’s done enough to take away his breath, slamming him into building and snatching the earth out from under him with alarming speed and intensity.

 

Clark’s hands never waver from his side, grasping at the fabric of his pants but making no attempt to reach out and seek Bruce’s body. He’s looking down with an emotion that Bruce can’t interpret no matter how many times he steals glances up at his superior. Finally, with a breath released through his parted lips that would be a hiss if it weren’t the two of them doing this, Clark puts his hand on Bruce’s jaw, angles his face up to meet Clark’s.

 

Bruce looks to him for answers on what to next. Everything is entirely at Clark’s disposal despite the fact that when the two of them came together before, albeit under completely different circumstances, Bruce led and Clark graciously followed. Applying more pressure, Clark pulls Bruce up to face him; Bruce’s chin remains still cradled in his palm. Bruce’s teeth grit behind his closed mouth. Nostrils flaring, he’s beginning to feel more challenging, knowing that now that they’re standing face-to-face in the perfect position for contact, he can make a point to initiate.

 

When Bruce’s lips part to draw in a breath, Clark leans in, hovering over them in what an outsider, someone who didn’t know their unorthodox style, would perceive as a tease. Rather Clark’s reading the change in his energy, finding him going from completely submissive to authoritative in one fell swoop, the change in their stances doing powerful things.

 

“Take that energy and use it for something else other than sneering,” Clark says feather-light against their shared breath. “If you want me, you have to take it. I’ve dangled enough things out there today and I quite frankly don’t have the patience to play cat-and-mouse with a bat.”

Bruce bites him at that remark, taking Clark’s lower lip and snagging it beneath his teeth as punishment for questioning his commitment to them, what they’re going to do, what they’re going to become as a result. He breathes into Clark’s mouth, all the words he could’ve had said in rebuttal becoming lost as Clark works to muffle his own sound of surprise.

 

Clark pulls back with newfound strength and soothes his tongue over where he’s slowly being marked. He raises his eyebrows once, a quick little gesture that almost gets lost as Bruce looks him over. “Now why couldn’t you have done that before? I sure as hell would have appreciated it when you were dancing around me. You could have ended this a great bit sooner if only you had – “

 

Bruce shuts him up proper at that pontification, kissing him with none of the gentleness he deserves. A noise of surprise ekes out from Clark’s throat and he puts one hand on either side of Bruce’s neck, thumbing at the stubble marbling the skin. In tandem they begin to slow their movements, lips sliding gently as if they weren’t completely as volatile as they like to behave, and Bruce even indulges himself, reciprocating Clark’s contact with him with a hand on the back of Clark’s neck to keep him anchored.

 

Clark’s hands begin to wander, fingers settling in the delicate cradle of Bruce’s skull, cupping around his ears to give him a firm hold. He’s allowing Bruce to sit him properly on the table behind them, large hands scooping Clark up by the ass effortlessly and placing him near the edge so Bruce doesn’t lose a moment of access. He hesitates to make work of Clark’s clothes, give his hands new places to roam, but soon his arousal overcomes that hesitation and Clark works to help him. Noises of frustration couple with their frantic and tangling hands.

 

“Please don’t rip anything,” Clark warns in a huff, pulling back from Bruce long enough to tug his undershirt over his head. “I don’t want to give my mom any questioning points.”

 

Bruce snickers and retorts while his mouth is on the curvature of Clark’s collarbone, “That’ll be the least of your concerns.” He’s infatuated with the feel of bone so exposed even covered by skin and sinew. It completely passes over him that Clark is some version of human, obviously not from this neck of the woods, but possessing all the autonomic vulnerability becoming of a man made from the same material as him. Flesh and bone, not impenetrable armor, forms them both.

 

Clark leans into the side of Bruce’s face, cheek against Bruce’s temple as he works to mark Clark on the outside. His eyes are hovering closed; his body is fighting off overstimulation as Bruce’s teeth dig into him, seeking a more tangible portion of him. One of his hands touches the fine buzz of Bruce’s hair, feeling how flushed Bruce’s skin is right here his temple, when hours before there lingered dirt and blood.

 

Bruce makes no move towards Clark’s pants, hands working right above his waist in touching as much skin as his fingers can handle, gripping flesh in favor of stroking in other places Clark would rather have the attention put on. Finally, once Clark has felt he’s had enough with what feels like an eternity of heavy petting completely unbecoming of what he had planned, he leans up on one hand and yanks down his pants. His underwear tangle behind the crook of his knees, his pants not far behind, forming an uncomfortable cushion that causes his feet to hit Bruce’s thighs.

 

“I need you to move, please,” Clark finds himself almost pleading. Bruce pulls back to look at him, when the look in Clark’s eyes takes whatever stamina he had left in him away. His hair is dangling down onto his forehead, eyes glassy with unsatisfied want, chest heaving with unsteady breath. “Take those big fucking hands of yours and touch me, for God’s sake. Fuck me, jerk me off, do something to make me come. Force it out of me.”

 

Bruce swallows a lump in the back of his throat that wasn’t there ten seconds ago. He makes it a point to be gentler from this point on and puts one hand on Clark’s shoulder blade to splay him out on the table. An afterthought, he kisses Clark once again on the lips and moves down to his chest, dropping kisses onto bumpy skin that shields trembling muscles. Clark makes a noise of anguish when Bruce’s mouth catches on the thin skin where Clark’s hips come to a hinge in his body. That noise progresses into a staggered grunt when the skin goes between Bruce’s teeth, light enough to only tempt nerves and not the pliability of Clark’s flesh.

 

Bruce noses at his cock for only a second, does nothing to perhaps hint at more, and goes back to sucking kisses into the muscles of Clark’s thighs. Dormant before, Clark’s hands pass over the thick bristle of Bruce’s hair, encouraging but not gripping just yet. He relaxes a little more when Bruce slows, makes his passes more affectionate rather than vicious, and tilts his head back on the surface of the table with an exhale.

 

That release of breath turns sharp at the end when Bruce mouths at the leaking tip of Clark’s cock. He grunts out, grip firming on Bruce’s hair.

 

“Ah shit, Bruce,” is about the only thing Clark’s melting brain can grit out when Bruce works the entire length of Clark’s cock into his mouth. He doesn’t move to provide suction at first, just lingers over it with the wet heat of his mouth. He makes a grateful noise when Clark moves his legs up and out, feet planting on the table.

 

In this vulnerable stance it takes all of Clark’s remaining strength not to thrust into Bruce’s mouth. He longs to satisfy another part of himself like he’d done before in the past, albeit in the dark with more favorable conditions than this warehouse and this table, and reach the apex he desperately wants.

 

Soon that end comes and he tugs on the longer part of Bruce’s hair as a feeble warning. Bruce doesn’t let up, even sucks harder, cupping Clark’s balls in his hand as one finger dips lower to tease at his hole as if he knew exactly what Clark was thinking earlier.

 

“Oh God, don’t, Bruce,” Clark moans quietly and gets a hard tease at the rim of his hole as punishment. The sound he makes after that is throaty and is totally something he doesn’t recognize. Goddamn Bruce for making him this way, so exposed and so raw, completely not the façade he’s worked so hard for years to make for himself.

 

The urgency he associates with his climax arrives sooner than he’d like and he starts tugging on Bruce’s hair again, trying to warn. Bruce seems to not want any of it and as Clark comes with a series of groans, he swallows it all down as it is given to him, quickly and in great quantities. His breath is staccato, lungs working double time to provide his body with breath.

 

Bruce leans back up, swallowing the last remnants of Clark’s come when it starts to linger on the back of his tongue. His face is flushed, starved of cool air and an average intake of oxygen, and he swipes one hand over it as he observes Clark’s ruined figure, it just as deconstructed as he’d hoped to make him feel. The fingers of his that aren’t ruined comb through his matted hair and he watches Clark sit up with a small noise.

 

Clark looks down and sees the state Bruce is in, cock peeking over the band of his shorts and staining the elastic there with precome as it rests against his stomach, and he reaches to hesitantly tug down Bruce’s shorts. Bruce lets him do as he pleases, still a little overwhelmed and weakened enough to let Clark take control if only for a second. Clark palms him quickly, dipping into the fluid at the top to give him traction against every downward stroke. Bruce’s knees buckle and as a result his crotch angles towards Clark’s eager hand.

 

Focused completely on the task at hand, Clark makes no move to talk. He’s so tired his motions are languid, gripping on areas he knows he’d be more sensitive in that Bruce just happens to be as well. Bruce cups the back of his head, encouraging his actions, and he breathes unsteadily as Clark shoves him towards a long-awaited climax.

 

Clark leans forward when Bruce begins to grunt with the impending force of his orgasm and catches Bruce’s release on his face, allowing it to hit his cheek and closed eye with pleasure. His thumb bends back to smooth it away from his face and it goes into his mouth as soon as he’s got enough. Bruce is looking down at him incredulously, surprised Clark even had it in him given the teasing session he was just subjected to only minutes before, but he fucking loves it.

 

Clark stands up on shaky feet and puts his arms around Bruce’s shoulders, not so much embracing him in affection but grounding himself with Bruce’s height and strength. He breathes in Bruce’s scent quietly, fingers again stroking at Bruce’s hair. This is something so uncharacteristic of them both when they’re not together. But when Clark exerts himself, Bruce has found on their second time together like this, he needs some stability afterwards. Bruce doesn’t mind, he’d do the same if he was in that position. He allows himself to stand there and provide the firmness Clark craves, dipping in from time to time to put a hand on Clark’s lower back or shoulder. Enough contact to satisfy their want, the two of them part to return to their respective parts of the world, only to come together again later on when that insatiable need returns.


End file.
